Shut Your Eyes
by IrisCandy
Summary: In the aftermath of his self-sacrifice, Stiles suffers the insidious effects of the darkness around his heart. Lydia, who feels she has become disconnected from her troubled friends, fights to bring them back to normal, but this proves to be a lot harder than it seems. (Mainly Stydia with involvement of other characters. Set sometime during 3B.)
1. Chapter 1

Stiles had read once about the record holder who'd stayed completely awake for eleven days before he couldn't function anymore, and since he was only on day two, he figured he didn't have much to worry about just yet.

He dragged himself from his bed, heavy from the nightmares caged in his mind. As long as he stayed awake, they didn't reach him, but that didn't mean they weren't still there. Ever since the sacrifice, he was plagued with them - eyes closed, eyes open, conscious, unconscious, night, day, morning, evening. They were always around, always waiting.

He sat on the edge of his bed, thankful for something to do after a night of crossword puzzles and headache inducing music. He showered. Dressed. Packed. Contemplated eating but figured he'd pack something for later since breakfast was the absolute most unappealing meal of the day.

Hiking his bag onto his shoulder, he sluggishly grabbed his keys from the counter and carefully avoided the mirror next to his front door as he left for school. Mirrors were never fun.

It took him a few moments to remember how to start up his Jeep. He took a second to thank his lucky stars that his dad had left for work already. The man had begun to become uncannily good at connecting the dots - whether supernatural or just in accordance to Stiles' behavior. Stiles had a feeling his father wouldn't let him drive this morning.

The engine rumbled to life beneath him, and if Stiles' body hadn't been in hypersensitivity mode for the past few weeks or so, he probably wouldn't have detected his phone buzzing in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and was slightly startled to see his vision taking a fraction of a second longer than usual to focus on the words.

_Where are you? - Lydia_

Stiles' brow furrowed. He would have figured that Lydia, as smart as she was, could deduce that Stiles was about to make his way to school -

His heart sunk a little when his eyes caught the glowing numbers on his dashboard's clock.

_11:17 AM_

Wonderful. He'd missed his first two classes and it's not like Stiles was overly concerned about his education at this point but the major issue here was that he could _swear to God _he'd gotten out of bed at 7:00 this morning like he was supposed to. He hadn't even been sleeping. He'd watched the clock like a hungry hawk all night and how could he have possibly misplaced this much time?

Stiles slammed a hand on the steering wheel and jerked his head around to check the street behind him, aggressively backing out of the driveway.

He had to make it for the last half of his science class because for fuck's sake, he was partnered with Lydia and he wasn't going to ditch her on this project no matter how much she liked doing it on her own.

He made it for 11:25, and eight minutes was five minutes less than his usual travel time and he'd only been honked at once so he let himself be impressed for a few moments before stepping out of his Jeep.

He sprinted into the school, to his locker and to his class for 11:30.

The teacher paused mid-sentence when Stiles entered the room rather abruptly.

"By all means, Stilinski, take your time," he drawled.

Stiles only raised an apologetic hand, as his brain was unable to come up with a witty response as of right now. He made his way down the aisle toward his seat, his eyes catching onto Lydia's, who had looked up from her notebook when he walked in.

She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, pen poised between two fingers as she looked at him with a slightly furrowed brow. Stiles couldn't quite pinpoint the very moment that Lydia had started scrutinizing him, but he knew he didn't like it.

If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he was scared. She was on to him and everyone on the damn planet knew just how awfully determined Lydia Martin could be.

But that was only if he was being honest with himself, which he wasn't, because that never did him any favors. He decided to ignore her look and take his seat behind her.

When the teacher finished his glaring, he cleared his throat. "As I was saying. You have the rest of the period to work on your summative projects. You don't bother me, I don't bother you. Understood? Good. Begin."

Lydia immediately spun in her seat to look at him as the class grew steadily louder. She arched her eyebrow expectantly at him. Stiles grabbed his pencil and leaned back in his seat, staring right back at her.

"What?" he asked.

"Sleeping in? Really, Stiles," she said disapprovingly.

Sleeping in. _Yes_, Stiles thought, _let's stick with that._

He shrugged his shoulders dully. "I've got nothing to lose."

Lydia rolled her eyes, but didn't turn away from him. Instead, she pulled her notebook from her desk and slapped it down on Stiles'. She pointed to a series of words that Stiles couldn't be bothered to try and read.

"See this?" she said. "This is your part. I'll take care of the experiments."

Stiles frowned. "You're sure?"

Lydia paused a moment, pursing her lips. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Stiles sat up straighter and rested his forearms on the desk. "It's just- this will take me five minutes, and those experiments could take you _hours_."

Lydia glared at him. Stiles noticed that her glares had become significantly less bitter and more unconsciously affectionate over the last few months. "They take hours for _you_, Stiles. Not me. Besides, if you want to help me, you could just say so."

Stiles looked at her for a few moments before she gave him a small smile. It reminded him of the one she gave him on the day of the surrogate sacrifices, when Deaton had forced her to be the one to hold him down in ice water.

Although, _forced _didn't seem like the right word anymore. Stiles had hoped that maybe a small part of Lydia knew that her relationship with him wasn't just an everyday casual friendship. If it was, then maybe it should have just been Isaac or Deaton to keep him tethered to the world and they all could have saved everyone the trouble of choosing their own personal lifeline.

Lydia turned back to the front, her strawberry blonde curls flying around her. Stiles concentrated on the back of her head for a few moments before she began fishing through her bag and pulled out a pocket mirror.

The mirror was enough to set it off. He never understood what it was about them, or why it felt so real when he saw the shadows behind Lydia and all around the classroom. They were dark and still silhouettes, providing no real reason for fear besides the crowding in Stiles' chest when he saw them. His heavy heart pounded in his chest with dread and an unbearable emptiness that he could never describe.

Lydia's face could no longer be seen in the small mirror swallowing him up. Just shadows, pulling him in, threatening to crack the very glass they were trapped behind. Stiles let out a shaky breath, as if he could release this burden inside him with a simple exhale. The abundance of air around him served no real purpose for his lungs anymore.

Suffocation. Darkness. Cold. Nothing but dark, dark, dark up ahead just like his nightmares depicted-

Lydia shut her mirror, and with it, Stiles squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't understand why he couldn't do it before - why he could never look away even if he was hurting. Shadows were imprinted on the dark red of his eyelids, and he was quick to open his eyes again. He pressed his palms on either side of his head, an instinct he'd developed in an effort to suppress whatever escaped his mind.

The only comfort he could bring to himself was that he still knew that the things he saw came from his _head_. They weren't really there. That thought never made any real difference when the shadows were present, but it was nice that he was sane enough to realize their true nature.

It was just a nasty side effect from the sacrifice. That was all.

"What's wrong?" Lydia's voice interrupted his thoughts in a rush of noise.

Stiles jumped slightly, pulling his hands from his head. Lydia was turned in her chair again, her eyes searching his face with a frown.

"What?" He asked quickly. He struggled to recover, sitting up straighter in his chair. "No, nothing. I'm fine."

Lydia, clearly unconvinced, opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She only looked at him a moment longer, her brows pulling together for a split second before she swallowed, and the expression was gone. She nodded, turning back around to face the front. Stiles waited and watched until Lydia gently pushed her hair behind her ear and returned to her work.

He grabbed his pencil and pretended to look alert for the rest of the class. He was annoyed with himself for being so overt and conspicuous. The last thing he wanted - the last thing he _needed_ - was for his friends to worry. They - Scott and Allison especially - were suffering just as much as he was in the aftermath of their sacrifices, and he'll be damned before he reaches out to any of them for help.

This was his own battle, though he wasn't quite certain what he was fighting.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia Martin had many problems of her own. There were the long term ones, the ones she pushed to the back of her mind and left until she couldn't possibly let them fester any longer. Then there were the short term ones, the ones she couldn't technically just pack away in a conceptual box when they were as sudden and pressing as a ticking bomb strapped to one's chest.

As she stood in the middle of a deserted street, barefoot, wearing only a nightgown and a jean jacket, she knew immediately that this was a (very) short term problem.

It was dark, the only light coming from the moon above her and the streetlights lining the road. The strong wind and rumbling throughout the town prognosticated a storm to come, and she was outside, standing in front of a plaza she used to go to when she was younger and fresher and in her purely designer dresses phase.

The plaza was made up of only day shops though, so here she was, alone and cold and wondering where the hell the dead body was this time.

Her hand twitched to the front pocket of her jacket, where she found that her fugue-state-self was considerate enough to leave a cell phone for her. Before pulling the phone out, she brought herself to safety in the parking lot of the plaza so as to not get run over in case a car does come rolling down the street.

She didn't have to think before she dialed the one number she'd actually memorized because it had become extremely useful these past few months.

It rang once before Stiles answered, sounding all at once alert and concerned.

"Lydia? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, uh- well, physically, at least," she answered, craning her neck to check behind her briefly. She couldn't tell if her goosebumps were from the cold of the oncoming storm or the feeling that someone was watching her.

"You do realize it's three in the morning, right? What happened?" Stiles asked. A shuffling noise on the other end of the line told her that he was already getting up from bed, though it was obvious by his voice that she hadn't woken him.

"That's the thing, Stiles, I don't...I don't know how I got here-"

"Where? Where are you?"

"The plaza. Garder and 74th," Lydia replied quickly. The words _please hurry _faded on her lips.

"Okay, I'm on my way. Lydia, _stay there,_" Stiles said forcefully.

"Look, Stiles, could you just..." she closed her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. Was she really going to do this?

Yes, apparently she was. "Stiles, could you stay on the phone with me until you're close? I don't know what's out here, and I'd rather not find out alone."

"I will," Stiles said. Lydia heard the old Jeep's engine rumbling in her ear. "Just don't go looking for anything, okay?"

"There's a storm coming," Lydia whispered, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself.

"Is there somewhere you could go? You said you were in a plaza"

"No, no it's all closed, just-"

She heard a wolf howl. There were no wolves in California, and so that could only be a...

Her stomach flipped.

"Did you hear that?" she hissed into the phone. She began to shake.

"Hear what?" he asked, but Lydia was too torn between the rain that was beginning to fall from the sky and the wolf she heard behind the plaza shops, and so she didn't answer.

"Lydia?" Stiles' panicked voice said in the phone.

"I'm fine. Just my imagination, I think," she lied.

The rain was coming down harder now. Lydia spun, looking for shelter, and found that there was a small lip protruding from the roof of the Macy's that could cover some small part of her. She moved toward it.

"What do you want me to do? You-you want me to tell you a story or something?" Stiles asked quietly in the phone.

Lydia paused and found her heart slowing from its frantic attempt to escape her chest. She smiled at the naivety in his voice, but she didn't let it seep into her voice.

"A story, Stiles? Really?"

"I'm trying to help," Stiles retorted. "My life's not as boring as yours, believe it or not."

Lydia scoffed. "As boring as mine?"

"Yeah, for instance, the only mildly interesting story _you_ could probably tell is about that one time you got your zipper caught at Bangles and made Jackson run into the girl's change room to help you, and then the two of you got detained for a night while Jackson only barely made it past the sexual harassment charges," Stiles said.

Lydia's brow furrowed just as a bolt of lightning darted through the sky way ahead of her. She cocked her head. "Stiles, we never told anyone that story."

Stiles gave a short laugh. "Did you know Jackson at all, Lydia? Alcohol can force practically anything out of him."

"You're telling me you and Jackson got drunk together," Lydia said in a monotone.

"I thought you didn't want to hear a story?" Stiles teased.

Lydia rolled her eyes and jumped when thunder cracked through the atmosphere. Judging by its potency, the lightning didn't hit very far away. Lydia let out a shaky breath, Stiles' short-lived distraction trickling from her mind.

"Hang on, I'm almost there," Stiles reassured.

Lydia nodded before she realized he couldn't see her, and said in a broken voice, "Okay."

She pressed herself further against the wall of Macy's, taking advantage of any shelter the roof provided. The rain was coming down in buckets now, a long needed drink for the Beacon Hills forests which have been prone to wildfires in the past. The thunder boomed overhead.

She squinted through the rain, looking for any sign of the sky blue Jeep.

"Okay, where are you? I'm two seconds away," Stiles said, and Lydia thought she could see a faint yellow light in the distance.

"The Macy's," Lydia yelled over the rain.

A second later, two yellow beams cut through the rain and Stiles turned his Jeep into the parking lot, screeching to a halt in front of her. He vaulted out of the vehicle, peering through the rain. He ran up to her and placed his big warm hands on her shoulders, though they didn't make much of a difference since she was soaked through and shaking.

"You okay? Come on, come on," he yelled. She complied, shoving her phone in her pocket and ducking her head against the rainfall as Stiles guided her to the passenger side door.

Stiles shut the door behind her and she was immediately engulfed in silence so blissful, she leaned her head back against the seat and shut her eyes until Stiles was in the car and breathing hard next to her.

"Thank you," she said softly, her breaths coming quick and shallow.

"Here," Stiles said, twisting to reach something in the backseat. He reappeared with a plaid blanket, worn and frayed. Lydia didn't have blankets like these at home. Hers were usually mulberry silk or Chinese cashmere, not warm and wooly, checkered and strained. "I brought three more if you need them, but I'll put the heat on and you should be somewhat drier by the time we get you home-"

He trailed off and Lydia pressed her back further into the seat, slightly startled when Stiles gently placed the blanket over her shaking form and tucked it around her. He carefully pushed her hair away from her face before staring at her, his face lined with worry. He was dripping wet.

"Why did you come here, Lydia?" he asked softly.

Lydia shifted her position, letting the warmth of the blanket extinguish her tremors. She tried to stifle the pleasant fluttering in her heart at his concern.

She swallowed. "I don't know. Usually I can remember getting into my car, or putting my jacket on, but this time..."

"Okay, it's okay. We'll talk about it later. Let's just...let's get out of here," he said. He cranked up the heat and gripped the gear stick, quick to steer the car out of the plaza's parking lot.

They drove in silence for a few minutes and Lydia curled up in her seat, looking at him. She remembered what he looked like in class earlier that morning. Or, rather, yesterday morning considering it was almost sunrise again.

He was obviously bone-tired. He looked about ready to drop, and yet he managed to wear that look like it wasn't bothering him at all, which gave Lydia the impression of a zombie or some other horribly unnatural thing. She didn't want to think of Stiles that way, but since his ice bath, she knew he was being bothered - tortured - by something, and he was burying it inside like he usually did.

He was so frustrating. Some days, she felt like slapping the truth out of him, but she never did out of her cowardice because she knew if she confronted one of them, she'd have to confront the other two as well.

Allison couldn't be described as anything other than scary. She'd only recently started keeping daggers at school, much to Lydia's chagrin as she tried to tell Allison that locker arsenals usually didn't sit very well with school authorities. She's started looking at everything like it were a threat that needed to be watched carefully, and Lydia once saw her almost take Isaac's arm off in the cafeteria when he tried to touch her. At least she still had the common sense to cover up her sudden outburst quickly and effectively before anyone really noticed.

Scott had become the most paranoid person Lydia had ever encountered. He was avoiding practically everybody, including Stiles, and he's started looking more like a sad puppy than ever before. If Lydia didn't know what was really going on, she would have guessed that there were bloody, violent and depressing battle films playing in the back of his mind on a loop for twenty four hours a day, but since blood and battle had basically become Scott McCall's life, he was most likely just reminiscing more than usual.

But Stiles seemed to bother her the most. Maybe it was because she felt closer to him, even more so than Allison nowadays, or maybe it was because he seemed to be suffering more _human _problems than Lydia's warrior Goddess of a best friend or Alpha werewolf leader. Stiles just seemed like he was deteriorating from lack of sleep and seeing things that weren't there and stressing over everybody else to the point that he forgets about himself.

And now he was driving her home from another one of her banshee episodes - if it even was one of those, because she could very well be going insane like the rest of them - and he was driving through the rain even though he probably couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds without getting distracted by something hallucinatory.

To say she was worried about him was to say the least. She was _scared _for him. For all of them. And how on earth was poor damsel-in-distress Lydia Martin going to do anything for them? She felt like the weight of the entire world was on her shoulders as it burned and she was the only one who could put out the fire.

"You're sure you're okay?" Stiles said suddenly. His voice broke the thick silence of the car, bringing her attention back to the present, listening to the rain hit the roof of the Jeep.

"I'm okay, Stiles," she said, and she tried to make her voice sound irritated because she knew that would make him feel better. She wasn't as cold or wet anymore, and she had the strangest feeling that she would cry like a little girl when Stiles tried to take this blanket away from her.

"Good. Me too, by the way, so you can stop looking at me like that," he said.

Lydia startled. She hadn't realized she was still staring at him. Part of her wanted to deny she was ever looking at him in the first place, but the other saw this as a window of opportunity.

She sighed. "Can you blame me, Stiles? I'm sure you've noticed your best friend has been avoiding you a lot lately and _my _best friend has been stabbing her food a little harder than usual."

Stiles stayed quiet for a little bit before saying, "I've noticed. But, look, we knew there would be consequences, Lydia. We didn't call it a sacrifice just for shits and giggles."

"I get it," she said, cocking her head like she didn't really care all that much. "I'm just wondering if maybe it's getting worse."

There it was. Even in the moonlight, she could see Stiles get just a shade whiter than he was before. She watched his throat as he struggled to swallow and his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.

So it _was_ getting worse.

"No, I don't think so," he said finally, his voice tight.

Lydia looked away from him to gaze out the window. Her voice was a broken whisper, and she wasn't quite sure Stiles even heard her next few words, but they felt a little like a death sentence because she knew they were true and she knew what they meant.

"You're a horrible liar, Stiles."


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had dropped Lydia back at home, safe and sound. She made him wait while she changed in the bathroom, and so he stood around awkwardly in her bedroom, hands in pockets.

How badly he wanted to snoop. He was sure there had to be _something _in this bedroom that wasn't a pair of shoes or a handbag. What did Lydia Martin keep sacred?

Was she even sentimental at all? He frowned at her bed. Some days he thought he knew her so well and others she was still a complete mystery.

He whipped his neck around at the sound of the door, followed by his body when Lydia came tiptoeing out of it. Her hair was still slightly damp and frizzy, but other than that, she looked warm and comfortable in a sweater and pajama pants which made him a little less uneasy because he wasn't going to pretend he didn't notice how thin and _clingy _that nightgown was that she was wearing outside-

But there was no time for that, was there? He shoved his stupid third grade crush to the back of his mind once more and took a deep breath, jerking a thumb toward her bedroom door.

"So, I better go," he said.

She stopped a little ways in front of him and Stiles couldn't decide if it was a comfortable distance or not. He could tell she was embarrassed about something by the way she pushed her hair behind her ear and looked at the floor, then out the window, then back at him, then back at the floor.

She bit her lip a second before nodding. "Right."

"You're sure you're okay?" he asked, bowing his head a little because she was still looking at the carpet at his feet.

Her wide green eyes snapped up and met his, finally. She nodded again, but it was stiff. Hesitant. "Yeah, yeah...I'm fine."

"Well, if you ever want to talk about...about what happened tonight, or-or _ever_, you know, if stuff's happening that you don't understand-"

"Banshee stuff," she finished knowingly.

Stiles smiled, but he found he couldn't hold it for very long. He couldn't remember when that had started happening, but he was suddenly very painfully aware of how heavy his smile was now.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly."Banshee stuff."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, her bare toes wiggling on the carpet like she was nervous and didn't know what to do with herself.

Stiles, feeling a sense of finalization creeping in to the conversation, started toward the door, but was stopped when Lydia called his name.

He turned, his hand gripping the doorway. Lydia was still standing there, hands gripping the edges of her sleeves."Thanks. You're a good friend."

It kind of looked like it pained her to say it, but Stiles didn't take it personally because it was a big fucking step for Lydia to even say at all, so he nodded once and raised his hand in goodbye before disappearing out the doorway.

* * *

Lydia followed him home and suddenly appeared in his bedroom at about 5:30AM.

Stiles sat up board straight in his bed, his crossword puzzle falling off his lap in the process.

"Lydia?" he exclaimed, heart still pounding from her sudden appearance in his doorway.

"Sorry I scared you," she said. She still only stood there, stiff and staring. "I forgot to tell you something, when you were at my house."

He scratched the back of his head, trying to look a little less bewildered because how in the hell did she get in here and what could she possibly have to say that couldn't wait for another few hours?

"Yeah, okay, uh...what is it?" he asked.

She was moving toward him now, slowly, almost _sultrily_. His heart sped up in his chest.

When she was close enough to sit next to him on his bed, she leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. A shiver ran down his spine and he couldn't help but close his eyes.

"Let it in, Stiles."

His eyes snapped open and he backed away a little on his bed. "What?"

She cocked her head at him as if she was scrutinizing him, her strawberry blonde hair cascading over her arms. "It's time to let it in. You know that, don't you?"

He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

She made a _tsk _of disapproval, but when she spoke, she spoke as if he was a child she were comforting. "Stiles, it can all be over. You _know _what to do. Let it in, and it'll all go away..."

She was rubbing a gentle hand down the back of his head now and it was so _good_, it was so nice to be touched like that until something sharp and burning white pierced the back of his neck and he didn't have time to look at Lydia one last time before-

He shot up in bed with a gasp, knowing he was killed for sure this time, knowing he was dead and gone and it was all over and he didn't know whether to feel scared or _relieved-_

But the pounding in his chest and his surroundings fading into place told him that he was in his bedroom, and the cold sweat covering his entire body told him he was dreaming again, but for fuck's sake, he _had to stay awake_.

He clamped his hand over his mouth, hating the sound of his own gasps. It wasn't so much the nightmares, but the feeling he got after it, the sick feeling in his stomach that was bad enough to lead him to vomiting sometimes, and that horribly lost feeling as he tried to piece together what was real and what he had dreamed.

His heart skipped a beat as he thought of Lydia. Did he pick her up earlier? Was that all a dream too? Or did he fall asleep right after her call, leaving her stranded in that cold, wet parking lot-

Stiles didn't hesitate. He didn't bother to look at the clock or try to judge what time it was based on the dark blue of the sky. He scrambled to pick up his phone from his side table, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and letting the nausea take him over for a second before finding Lydia's name in his phone. His hands were slippery and he felt like he'd been run over by a truck-

"Hello?" a voice said in his ear.

"Lydia? Lydia, are you okay?" he asked, fighting to catch his breath still.

"Yeah, Stiles, what's wrong?" she said, sounding startled.

"Did I- Lydia, I gotta know if I- I picked you up last night, right?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

"A few hours ago- Stiles, what happened? What's going on?" she asked, her voice urgent.

He threw an arm over his stomach and struggled to speak. "And I stayed-I stayed in your room while you changed, right?"

"Yes-"

"Okay, and nothing else happened," he stated.

"No, nothing else. What the hell-"

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Stiles-!"

He hung up, pressing the cool surface of his phone to his forehead.

Stiles had lost a whole chunk of time. He could swear, he'd driven home from Lydia's in his Jeep at 4:50 in the morning and sat himself on that bed with a crossword puzzle, but when had the dream started? There was no line between reality and dream, no indication as to when he'd passed from his room to his dream room, or when Lydia became dream Lydia.

It was like the more he dreamt, the harder it was to determine what was _real. _The line between his two worlds became smudgier and smudgier the more he closed his eyes.

He glanced at the clock on his side table.

7:05AM.

All he had to do was bury the dreams and the memories of the night, and he could start his no-sleep routine once again. Perhaps he would resort to caffeine this time, stay up as long as humanly possible.

Eleven days, right? He could do twelve.

He lifted himself from his bed, ignored his burning and writhing stomach and his pounding head, and began to get ready for school.

* * *

He'd only been able to make it to his locker and a few steps toward his classroom before Lydia had managed to catch up with him.

Before he knew it, he was being pulled by the hand and manhandled until he was pushed into the corner of the girls' washroom next to a sink. A fierce strawberry blonde had him pinned against the wall with two hands pressing into his shoulders.

"Lydia, what the hell?" he exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Do you think this is funny?" Lydia asked. Her voice was low and dangerous and Stiles was a little scared if he was being honest with himself.

"That you forced me into the girls' washroom? No, actually, I was thinking-"

"That's not what I meant," she hissed.

Stiles glanced over her shoulder to check for feet under the stalls, but apparently Lydia had already had the forethought to check before shoving him in here. They were alone, their voices echoing off the pale bathroom walls.

"Okay, Lydia-"

"You hung up on me, Stiles," Lydia said angrily, but she finally ceased digging her nails into his shoulders and stepped back slightly, hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, it was a mistake-"

"A mistake? I thought you were _dying_," she spat.

"Okay, that's a little dramatic, Lydia-"

"We're not leaving until you tell me what's going on. The _truth,_" she said dangerously.

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay, I- I don't know why I called you this morning, alright? I was delirious, and I was sleepwalking-"

"If you were sleepwalking, then you wouldn't have known that you called me in the first place, would you?" Lydia challenged.

Stiles paused, but quickly recovered. "What do you want me to tell you, Lydia? That I can't sleep? Boo fucking hoo, alright? We've got real problems, and I shouldn't have called you this morning, and I'm sorry. Please, just forget it."

It seemed Lydia was fighting to keep her jaw clenched, but she couldn't keep her eyes from softening. She licked her lips and ran a hand through her hair, looking away from him a moment.

"All I want is the whole truth, Stiles. The real explanation. Whatever this is, we can work through it-"

"We _knew _this would happen, Lydia! I knew what I was in for, and so did Scott, and so did Allison. It's done," he tried to move passed her, but he didn't want to have to shove her out of the way, so he just ground his teeth together. "Are you going to let me out of the bathroom or do you plan on keeping me hostage all day?"

She didn't move. "Just because you knew this would happen doesn't mean you were prepared for it."

"Okay, if you really want to play therapist right now, why don't we talk about how you wandered miles into the night at three in the morning in a _nightgown_-"

"Shh!" she hissed, pressing a hand to his chest and glancing behind her hastily as if somebody were listening.

"See, that's just it. It's fine if we go into my problems but as soon as someone starts airing _your_ dirty laundry, the game's up, right? Is that it?" Stiles asked. It was getting harder and harder to control his temper.

"Stiles-"

"No. I'm done," he said finally, and this time he had no choice but to shove her out of the way as gently as one could shove, and storm out of the washroom, leaving her behind.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hi guys! Long time no see. I'm glad to see that you guys are excited about this story, and I hope it'll help tie you over until the return of Teen Wolf. This, of course, is another Stydia centric story, but there will be other characters involved too because I just love everybody on this show. *sigh* It has ruined me. **

**Next chapter soon to come! Let me know your thoughts and feelings and overall angst in the reviews. And yes, I got this idea based off of the new Stiles promo for 3B because it was ****_the_**** most intense 25 seconds of my life and I had to elaborate on it. Good day and goodnight, fans and friends!**

**PS: If you found mistakes or things that made no sense in this chapter, that's because I didn't review it. And if this chapter seems a little less eloquent than the others, that's because I'm tired and delirious and I'm rushing to give you all something to read tonight. Plus it might have to do with the fact that its in Stiles' perspective and usually I'm better at capturing Lydia's feelings than Stiles but- I'm rambling and making excuses. Goodbye! **


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia didn't have very many regrets. Aside from watching a few movies she could have done without, everything she did, every boy she dated, every word she said; their consequences made her stronger. They made her _like _what she saw in the mirror. How could she ever regret any of it?

Plus, all the assholes she dated in the past weren't _comprehensively _bad. It was mostly just their personalities.

Point being, everything had a purpose in Lydia's life. Nothing came without consequences, nothing came without benefits. The means always had achievable ends.

Then along came Stiles. Right now, as she stared at herself in her bedroom mirror, she could see no possible reason for having been so mean to him in the past. Of course he wouldn't trust her now; why should he? She judged him, laughed at him, stepped all over him and for _what_? Even after all that, they were still friends. He still gave her way more chances than she deserved.

But he wouldn't let her in. Not now, not ever. And because of this, Lydia had regrets, and she wanted nothing more than to step into a time machine and travel back to all the moments she ignored him or otherwise hurt him. Jesus, they had werewolves and dark druids, why not time travel too?

Maybe then he would tell her everything she wanted and needed to know. They could go to Deaton together, figure something out and_ fix_ everything for once and for all.

She sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to go out of her way to fight for her three struggling friends when there were so many others that she could have with just a snap of her fingers?

But that there, she realized, was just it. Maybe the real friends were the ones you needed to fight for. For once, maybe it was Lydia who had to do the fighting.

She made a frustrated noise and got up to grab her jacket from the back of her door.

"Damn you, Stiles Stilinski."

* * *

She felt horrible. The guilt was eating her up as she waited in her sitting room, phone in hand, knowing what she just did.

Yet, somehow, that didn't stop her from smiling.

If she had told her friends she was planning on having a nice get-together at her house than she knew there was no chance in all of hell that they would come.

So, if that meant calling them all and telling them that she had found another dead body and needed them at her house ASAP, then so be it. If she was going to have to live her life as a banshee than she may as well use it for something.

It felt _good _to scheme again.

After a few minutes, a frantic knock sounded from her front door. She got up from the sofa, tossing her hair behind her and straightening her posture. They wouldn't be very happy in the first place, never mind once she told them she was only lying to get them here. Luckily, Lydia could be very persuasive if she wanted to.

She opened up the door and was glad to see they had carpooled. The sky was only beginning to darken as they piled into the house; Stiles looking around like Lydia had dragged a body into her house somewhere, Scott stony-faced and ready for a fight and Allison tight-lipped and somber.

"So where is it? Where are we going?" Stiles asked, meeting her eyes.

She cleared her throat and shut the door behind them slowly as they all began to look a little confused by her calm demeanor. She locked the door and leaned against it, her arms folded behind her.

Stiles opened his mouth for a second before saying, "Okay is it just me or does this feel like the rising action in a serial killer movie?"

"Lydia, what's going on?" Allison asked.

Lydia's eyes glanced to her friend's back and she rolled her eyes. "God, Allison, did you really bring your arrows?"

"Well, _yeah_, Lydia, I was expecting the worse," Allison said, outstretching her hands to the sides.

"I have a feeling there is no body," Scott grumbled, sharing a look with Stiles.

"You are absolutely right, Scott," Lydia said with a triumphant smile. "And personally, I think you can all understand the drastic measures I had to take to get you all in the same room."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you only went this far," Stiles said, scratching the back of his neck. She glared at him.

"Okay," Allison interjected, stepping between Stiles and Lydia as if she thought nobody could see her. "Look, Lydia, I really don't have time for this-"

"You're not leaving," Lydia said. "We're going to be spending some time together. All of us. I even bought all your favorite foods and a movie for when things get too awkward."

"It's not like we were avoiding anybody," Scott said. "We just have other things on our minds. Which means no movies."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Scott. "Even if I got Mexican?"

She could swear that Scott's ears pricked up at the word. Lydia smiled and made her way through them to reach her sitting room, knowing they were all too curious not to follow. Seriously, what else did they have to do besides wallow in their own misery?

They took their seats on the couch and Lydia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as Allison and Scott pointedly avoided looking at each other and cleared their throats, squeezing themselves into opposite ends of the couch as far as they could.

Stiles, who didn't have as much self restraint, rolled his eyes with his entire body and sagged into the couch between them.

"There. Wasn't so hard, was it?" Lydia asked, making sure to be extra patronizing. She kneeled in front of the coffee table and dealt her gifts.

"Mexican for you," she said, pushing a Styrofoam container of various tacos and meats toward Scott. "Chinese for Allison, and a disgusting amount of a curly fries for Stiles."

Scott and Stiles, being boys, almost looked pained that they had no choice but to accept their respective containers. Allison accepted hers too, but not nearly as eagerly.

"This is bribery," Stiles said through a mouthful of curly fries.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "No, actually, this is me trying to be nice."

Scott paused in the process of taking a bite and, to Lydia's surprise, gave a short laugh. "Okay, now it's definitely bribery."

In spite of Scott's jab, Lydia's heart felt a little lighter. It was nice to see Stiles and Scott in the same room, on the same page and half-laughing about something.

Too bad Lydia was going to have to ruin everything because this really was, in fact, bribery. She'd have to get them soft and full of food before she could actually question them about their latest experiences with the darkness.

* * *

It was about 8:30 at night when everybody was done their food and, if only slightly, loosened up. Lydia had started conversation, asking them how they've been and how they were doing, but her friends were anything but stupid. They knew exactly where she was leading the conversation and she really had no idea why they were so obstinate about telling her their feelings, but they were certainly getting crabby.

They'd only been talking for about five minutes when Lydia said something wrong.

"I know I'm not exactly the _easiest _person to talk to, but it's not just me that's noticed the three of you acting strangely. It's Isaac too-"

"Oh and that's another thing," Allison interjected. She had already been agitated, but the mention of Isaac set her off. She pushed herself forward to see Scott at the other end of the couch. "Have you seriously been giving Isaac a hard time _just_ for being around me?"

Scott looked nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Scott," she said dangerously, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Allison, seriously, it had nothing to do with that-"

"So you have been. Unbelievable," Allison said with an incredulous laugh. With that, she got up from the couch, slung her arrows back over her shoulder and made her way toward the front door despite both Scott and Lydia's calls.

"Allison!" Scott called again. He turned to Lydia, his mouth hanging open stupidly before getting up from the couch as well. "Sorry, Lydia, I have to uh..."

And then he was gone as well, always chasing after Allison.

Lydia sucked in her top lip as a ringing silence followed her friends' departures. Just she and Stiles, as per usual, stuck in a room during an awkward situation.

Stiles avoided her eyes for the first couple seconds before they finally looked at one another. The lighting in the room was dim and comfortable, but the absence of Scott and Allison really seemed to emphasize the dark abyss that had opened up between her and Stiles today in the bathroom, and everything got a little darker. Silently, Lydia pleaded with him, because she could sense what he was going to say next.

He said it anyways, getting up from the couch. "I should probably go too-"

"You're really going to go? Now? Stiles, you can see how hard I'm trying here, and you know I'm not one to...to _beg _but I'm begging you now-"

"It's not my place to say anything anymore, Lydia. You dragged them into this too and now whatever I say is going to implicate them in whatever you're planning," Stiles said, though his voice was strained.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at his expression and spoke softly. "You don't actually believe that."

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing made its way out. They both knew it was true. She could see it in the way his mouth tightened and his eyebrows twitched together just for a second, instinctive reactions he was trying so hard to suppress.

"It's because you know that you're worse than the other two," Lydia said, moving around the coffee table to stand next to him. "You don't want to say anything to me because you're afraid it won't match up with their symptoms."

Stiles shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut at that last word. "Would you stop saying it like that?"

"Like what?" Lydia asked.

"Like it's some kind of disease! This isn't something that can be diagnosed, Lydia, no matter how badly you want it to be. Don't you get that?" He was yelling now, pinching the bridge of his nose like a headache was brewing.

"Then _what _are you so afraid of telling me?" Lydia asked. She stepped toward him and she wanted so badly to grab his hand but something was stopping her, something from her past that kept her feelings shut inside her.

"It's not that-"

"What, Stiles?" she pushed.

He cocked his head down at her, his eyes searching her face. She felt the abyss closing just a little as something dawned on Stiles' face, like he was only just realizing that she genuinely cared no matter how much she refrained from saying so.

"Honestly," he started. His voice was small, broken, and all arguments from before seemed to flicker out at the sound of it. "Honestly, Lydia, I'm losing my _mind_ here. And I don't want to make you a part of it, because I...I just don't see this going anywhere good. Okay, and you were right when you said that it was getting worse. I'm just-"

He shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "I'm spiraling out of control, and there's nothing you or me or any magical potion can do about it. I don't really want to talk about that."

Lydia could feel herself pale when she heard the certainty in his voice, when a weight dropped inside of her that told her that this could be _true_, that Stiles could be a completely different person in a matter of months because of this incurable thing inside of him.

But then she recalled what she had told herself in the mirror. If Lydia was going to give up after this, if she was really going to call this a _fight, _than maybe she really wasn't as strong as she thought she was.

"If this is purely psychological, then we can _fix_ it, Stiles. Or at least, find a way to make it a little easier," she said, but Stiles didn't look too convinced. She grabbed his hand this time, something that made him look a little bemused.

"I'm serious. You say you believe in me, right? I'm telling you now; this is not the end of the line, okay? You just have to trust me," she said, her voice getting soft.

Stiles looked down at their hands entwined, and for some reason she had the urge to pull it back again, but she bit her cheek instead. His eyebrows knitted together and he licked his lips once, until finally, he pulled his eyes back up to hers and nodded.

"Okay," he said. He wasn't altogether on board, Lydia could tell, but she was glad he was giving her a chance. "What's next then?"

Lydia smiled and took her hand from his. She placed it on his face instead, just for a second, and said, "First, I think it's time you got some sleep."


	5. Chapter 5

The smell of gasoline filled his senses. He was back at Glen Capri, his hands outstretched as he pleaded with Scott, begged for him to see that this wasn't _him_.

He could swear he could hear the _drip, drip, drip _of the gasoline falling from Scott's hair and clothes, pooling around his feet. Right now it was only Stiles and him, no one else, and Stiles couldn't bear to think just how close Scott was to death, just how close they'd _both _be to death if he just stepped a little closer...

"Scott," Stiles said, his voice shaking. "You're my brother."

His best friend looked up at this and Stiles could swear he saw an inkling of hope return to his eyes, just for a moment, before his sad stare turned into a withering glare.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Some brother you've been."

And then he dropped the flare. Stiles screamed and flung himself backwards just as Scott and the ground around him erupted into flames. Scott's figure stood, eerily still and silent in the flames as he burned and Stiles was still screaming his throat raw and falling to his knees. He retched, knowing that the smell invading his nostrils was his best friend blistering and crumpling to ash-

And then that phrase was filling his ears, said by no one and everyone all at once. "Let it in, Stiles."

Stiles clamped his hands to his ear and coughed and screamed and choked on the smoke surrounding him. The flames were so close they were practically singeing his hair, but he didn't care because Scott was _dead _and something was giggling nearby telling him to let it in, let it in, what the fuck does that _mean_?

A sharp blow to the back of his head sent him bolting upwards, just like the last time, and he gasped like he really had been breathing in smoke. Immediately though, he had to lie back down and curl himself into a ball as his stomach churned. Was he going to vomit? Where was he?

His vision blurred and swayed when he tried to focus on whatever he was staring at. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his mouth, taking short breaths through his nose though he knew he should be breathing deeply.

A shuffling noise in the corner was brought to his attention, but he didn't want to open his eyes. He could still smell the gasoline; still see the stain of orange flame on his eyelids, still hear his best friend's last words before he blew himself up. His dreams were another world, a place so sensual and real that it took him minutes, even hours to remember if they really were_ just_ dreams.

An image of Lydia bled into his mind.

"Oh God," he groaned, because he just remembered:

The tension had seeped out of the room rather quickly, and Stiles was planning on staying at Lydia's just for a little while before making his way home to get some rest as he had promised. Lydia had curled herself on a chair in the corner with a book when the conversation faded out. Stiles remembered staring at the dim light on the ceiling, blinking at it, feeling himself sink further and further into the couch and trying in vain to hold on to thoughts of _I have to get home _or _I am not seriously falling asleep on Lydia's living room couch- _

And then he had fallen asleep.

So unless Lydia had carried him home or the curly fries and drama had all been just a dream, Stiles was still on that very couch he had vowed not to fall asleep on.

Lydia's voice breaking through his thoughts confirmed his fears.

"Stiles? You okay?" she said quietly.

He opened his eyes just as she was entering his line of sight. He saw only a sideways picture of her knees for a second before she kneeled down to look at him in the dark.

"Shit," he whispered quietly, not really meaning to in his disoriented state. This is the last thing he wanted to happen.

"Hey, come on," she coxed, placing a firm hand on his shoulder like she wanted him to sit up, but he was afraid he would vomit all over her couch, or _worse, _all over her.

He shook his head, his breaths still coming in pants like he'd been running a marathon rather than sleeping. "No, sorry, just- just give me a sec-"

Lydia complied, sitting back with her legs folded under her. Stiles was incredibly grateful that it was still dark out, the only light being the dull blue of the moon shining through the window panes, illuminating half of Lydia's face and the messy bun on her head. Her green eyes were orbs gleaming in the dark, searching his entire body as he composed himself. He was becoming aware of the sweat drying on his face and the thought only made him more exhausted. In fact, sleeping had passed exhausting a long time ago. Now, it was simply excruciating.

"Deep breath," she reminded him quietly. Stiles caught her doing some fidgety thing with her hands in her lap, like she wanted to reach out to him but something was keeping her from doing so.

He nodded into the pillow and followed her advice, breathing deep through the nose and out through the mouth. Eventually, his breaths evened out. He hadn't realized he'd been gripping the pillow with every fiber of strength he had until his hand cramped up and he had to let go.

"Better?" Lydia asked softly.

He nodded again and blinked heavily. It was an odd feeling when your body wanted to sleep more than anything else, and your mind just couldn't take a minute of it.

"What do you need?" Lydia asked urgently.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing, I'm sorry."

"Stiles, its okay-"

"It's not, Lydia, I'm on your _couch _- Jesus-"

He sat up this time, a little quicker than he had anticipated. The room spun, and he let out a shaky _whoa _before gripping the back of the couch.

"_Stiles_," Lydia said again, almost angrily. "Calm down, okay?"

"Could you call Scott?" Stiles blurted out, closing his eyes again.

"Scott?" Lydia asked. Her hand was on his thigh, steadying him.

"I just gotta know- I have to know he's okay,"

"It was just a nightmare, Stiles. Scott's fine," Lydia reassured him.

Stiles whipped his head around to look at her. "How can you know that?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but instead furrowed her brow and shook her head. He knew he probably sounded nuts. He really didn't mean to, but he could never be sure of the truth anymore and the worry was chewing up his heart to the point of physical pain.

Lydia sighed and moved to sit by his feet on the couch, removing her hand from his thigh. "Stiles, I told you to trust me, remember? The first step to fixing this is to not give in to the illusions, or dreams, or whatever else you experience. The more you let them manipulate your emotions, the harder it becomes to know the difference between dreams and reality."

Stiles nodded, knowing she was right. He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to calm the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Scott was okay. He never killed himself that night, and he never went back to try again.

A memory seeped into his mind as he remembered he and Scott watching Star Wars together the day after the fire like Scott had promised. He had gone back to normal, and Scott pretended he didn't like the movie when Stiles knew he was completely absorbed in it, and they made fun of Isaac when he fell asleep.

That was reality. _That _was the real memory.

"What is it?" Lydia asked suddenly.

He locked eyes with her. Her brow was furrowed with worry and her hands still played around him. It was like she was waiting for him to crumble, waiting for some chance to catch him as she sat curled at his feet.

He didn't want to seem so weak in her eyes.

Suddenly he was angry with himself again for crashing on her couch. How could he be so stupid? He'd managed to stay awake for so long, and it was Lydia's soft rhythmic breathing as she read her book that finally did him in.

"I really have to go, Lydia. This was like, _the_ stupidest thing I could have done-"

Something about Lydia's expression caused him to trail off. She was sucking in her lips and looking away from him, and it looked a lot like a secret failing to keep itself hidden on her face.

"Wait, did you- Lydia, did you seriously do this on purpose?"

"What?" Lydia asked, snapping her gaze back to him. She used to be a great liar, and so he was slightly confused when it was so plain on her face that she was feigning ignorance.

Stiles' mouth fell open. "You knew if you gave me the curly fries and talked me into staying here for a while that eventually I would fall asleep on this couch-"

Lydia scoffed. The game was up. "Stiles, you're acting like I drugged you and tucked you into my bed. Honestly, do you really think I would trust you to go home and sleep? You do realize how absolutely pigheaded you are, right?"

"Seriously, Lydia, I wouldn't dismiss narcotics at this point. You've already manipulated me-"

"I offered you a spot on the couch and you fell asleep on your _own_. I had nothing to do with that," Lydia growled.

He was just opening his mouth to ask her if she realized how fucking relaxing the sound of her breathing was before he figured out that that really wasn't technically her fault.

"Okay, well, next time just don't," he said simply.

Lydia made a frustrated noise and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, what is the big deal?"

"The big deal? _The big deal, _Lydia, is that you have a boyfriend - who is a _werewolf, _if you hadn't noticed - that probably wouldn't be too understanding about having me sleeping on your couch and would most likely _rip _my throat out if he found out. Not to mention, I never wanted you to see-"

He hesitated. Lydia, who was obviously dismissing the first few parts of that sentence, furrowed her brow and uncrossed her arms. "See what?"

Stiles shrugged and threw out his arms, like the answer was all around them in plain sight. "See _that. _Whatever that was."

Lydia blinked rapidly and licked her lips, troubled. "Stiles, don't you remember...last year, when Peter Hale was basically terrorizing me? And I'm sure you don't have trouble remembering that time that I stumbled out of the woods naked?"

Stiles swallowed and forced the image out of his mind, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. He nodded.

"Okay, well, you don't think I've ever had nightmares about any of that?" she asked.

Stiles stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I have. Awful, disorienting, terrifying nightmares involving things that I could never describe to you, Stiles. I know what its like," she said. Her voice had turned to a pained whisper. "I've seen it in the mirror, and it doesn't look any different on you."

And it only took a split second for Stiles to feel like the scum of the earth. He hadn't given a single thought to Lydia's past throughout all of this. Obviously she had to have had nightmares, visions, hallucinations - all of these things that pushed her to do inconceivable things, like raising her torturer from the dead.

Of course she understood. Maybe she had suffered a different darkness than Stiles did, but she definitely understood. He hadn't seen it before, until he looked at her now in the darkness and saw his own pain reflected on her face.

"That walk you took to the plaza in the middle of the night," Stiles said. "That wasn't anything banshee related, was it?"

Lydia shrugged one of her shoulders. "I don't know. I'm thinking it was only a lasting side effect of the dreams I had. I used to walk places, find blood on my hands, scrapes on my feet..."

She shook her head slowly as she remembered, her eyes far away.

Stiles nodded. It was yet another step closer to closing the abyss between them; another small thing they shared between one another that nobody else would understand.

"Lydia, I...I'm sorry, I should've realized-"

Lydia held up a hand, shook her head and gave him a tight-lipped smile; a sign of peace.

She reached out and tugged on the hem of his shirt, like she was straightening out a wrinkle in it. "You're sure you're okay?"

Stiles began to nod slowly, then all at once as he internally checked himself for anything that would make him not okay, but besides feeling weary and worn, he really was fine.

"Seriously though," Stiles said. "Don't tell Aiden about this."

Lydia laughed quietly in the night and pushed her stray hairs behind her ear with her free hand. Her small fingers were still playing with his shirt, but he reached out to softly hold her hand instead.

Stiles still couldn't understand how she could be so helpful and comforting and strong, and yet could just as easily shrink to a child's size in need of a protection he was afraid he could never offer.

She looked up at his touch. She had that same look he remembered on her face after they kissed - the small crease in her brow, the wide eyes, the confliction that Stiles didn't understand.

But as he took a small risk and rubbed his thumb affectionately across her knuckles, he was relieved to feel that she didn't pull away.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't long before Beacon Hills was once again flooding with the supernatural. This time, however, Lydia feared they were dealing with something far more complex than werewolves.

She got the call in the morning, only a few quick hours after Stiles left her home, and now she stood, holding her breath, lined up in front of a sight that at once perplexed her, scared her and intrigued her.

Foxes. Four of them, each the same size and each the same bright orange color. Lydia couldn't move her eyes away from the arrows - one sticking out of each of their sides respectively, with a red splotch of blood that had recently bloomed around the wound. The bodies were lined up, almost like someone had dragged them there as a display in this clearing of the forest. Lydia also noticed the flags - four small orange flags sticking out of the ground next to each of the bodies, like a signal or a message.

"This wasn't my family," Allison said softly.

"Maybe this wasn't anything supernatural at all. I mean, it could have been just a bunch of rogue hunters looking for a good time," Lydia suggested, looking at each of her friends in turn. She didn't even believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she needed to contribute _something. _

Scott, Stiles, Isaac, Allison and Lydia were all crowded around the bodies, and Lydia could tell that her friends were just as guiltily intrigued as she was. Did she _miss _this? Did she miss having something to do that wasn't homework or chores or scouring stores for the next big trend?

Isaac shook his head. "No. Look at the wounds - they're in the exact same place on each of the bodies. You'd have to be as good - if not _better_ than the Argents to be able to do that."

"He's right," Allison said, shaking her head and crossing her arms. "This couldn't have been recreational."

"Plus, that doesn't exactly explain these," Stiles said, moving in to pull one of the flags out of the ground and wave it around.

"Alright, so what is this?" Scott asked. "More sacrifices? Are they going to start killing _people_ again too?"

Silence fell among them. Lydia caught eyes with Scott for a moment and was suddenly hit with a memory from that night at the school concert, before she was almost choked to death.

_"I don't know why I'm the one that keeps finding the bodies," Lydia had said to Scott. "But maybe if I just stopped trying to fight it...I'd find them before it happens. Maybe with enough time for someone like you to do something about it." _

_Scott nodded. "You get me the time and I'll do something about it. I swear to God, I will." _

That moment had been cemented in her mind since it happened. She hadn't forgotten her offer, or Scott's promise. Maybe it was time to really act on it.

"If this is the same thing...sacrifices, I mean," Lydia said. "Then this time we'll be able to stop them sooner."

Scott nodded at her knowingly, encouraging her.

"Okay, wait. Wait a second. Allison, can't you check the bestiary for something? Maybe these aren't sacrifices at all. Maybe they're like...werefoxes or something," Stiles said.

Scott smirked at his best friend. "Werefoxes, Stiles?"

"No, he's right," Lydia spoke up. Stiles gave her a look that said _I am? _"I mean, not werefoxes exactly but there are several different legends that have to do with malicious foxes. There are plenty of reasons why someone would want them dead."

"Okay, like what?" Stiles asked.

Lydia searched her mind. "I guess the most common one would be the kitsune, but-"

"Kitsune," Allison said in recognition, furrowing her brow.

"You know it?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, yeah, my dad mentioned something about them. I think it was one of his first kills."

Allison's words sparked the air, inducing a kind of excitement Lydia could only associate with _progress. _

"Alright, so what? Are there many of them? If somebody already killed four of them..." Isaac trailed off.

"No, this doesn't feel right," Allison said. "We're missing something."

And just like that, the initial excitement was already wearing off into one massive headache.

"Okay," Lydia said finally. "If you can get us the bestiary, me and Stiles can handle the research while you guys go off and shoot something or whatever it is you do."

Scott furrowed his brow. "You sure? I mean, there's no immediate threat-"

"Right, no immediate threat except for whatever turned these four foxes into bloody pulps," Stiles said casually, holding out his hands at the sight before them.

There was a pause before everyone seemed to silently agree on what their next move was. On that note, Lydia and Stiles were headed to the school library for the last few periods of classes they were skipping, while the others took off to speak to Allison's father.

* * *

Lydia had to praise the Argents for their thoroughness. They had werewolf facts in the bestiary that had Lydia wondering how they'd even come across that knowledge in the first place.

She decided it best not to question it.

The kitsune, however, was a whole other enigma entirely. There was only one barely filled page on them, and soon enough, Stiles and Lydia were ruffling through tomes and tomes of Asian mythology.

When Lydia had gotten a text from Allison after an hour of research, she'd just about given up.

_My dad refuses to tell us about the kitsune in detail. Keep looking, we'll get him to talk. - Allison_

"Alright," Lydia said finally, stashing her phone in her purse and pinching the bridge of her nose against a headache. "If I don't eat anything soon, I may deteriorate."

She looked up at Stiles. He was still buried in a book, frowning at the words.

"Stiles," she said loudly. She could feel the librarian's dirty look on her back.

"'Trickster spirit'," Stiles said, looking up at her finally. "That's come up about 500 times in the last 20 books."

"So what?" Lydia asked. Her eyes scanned the table around them and she was suddenly mind boggled by the five coffee cups next to Stiles' arm. She hadn't even noticed him getting up to buy those last four. Lydia was already strung out by the one that she had, never mind _five_. "Stiles, seriously?"

Stiles rubbed his thumb up and down his pen at an incredible speed. "What? Look, forget it - I think I found something."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him a moment, but eventually she sighed and moved to sit beside him at the other side of the table. She pulled up a chair, moving in close to see the pages of the book in front of Stiles.

"Okay, so there are different types of kitsunes, that's obvious by now. But they're only different because of intention: some are good, some are bad. And this says that the bad ones are harder to kill because they don't _bleed_," Stiles said.

Lydia had trouble hooking on to his every word as they poured out of his mouth like a power hose, but she got the gist of it.

She frowned. "But the ones in the woods..."

"They obviously bled when they died," Stiles said, nodding. "Which leads me to think that what or whoever killed those foxes in the woods is either killing the good ones on purpose or killing every single fox they see just to be sure."

"What, like trial and error? Whichever doesn't bleed is their primary target?" Lydia asked, feeling a little nauseous at the thought.

"It wouldn't be too out of the ordinary, right? I mean, a lot of these hunters live by some pretty screwed up codes," Stiles said. "I guess this one's just...when life gives you lemons, commit genocide."

Lydia rolled her eyes at the crude joke and pulled Stiles' book toward her, scanning for key words. "Okay, but that still doesn't explain 'trickster spirit.' Where does that come in?"

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck vigorously and repeatedly clicked his pen, moving akin to a hummingbird. "I guess...well, if it doesn't bleed than maybe it only looks like the rest of the foxes. What if it really is a _spirit_? I read that it's only considered bad because it tricks and teases people into sin or suicide, which would explain the trickster part."

Lydia scoffed, shaking her head. "An evil phantom fox? This should be easy."

Stiles gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his neck once again.

"_Stiles,_" Lydia said firmly. She slapped a hand down on his knee which was starting to bounce.

He froze and looked at her; their faces a little too close for friendly comfort. She didn't miss his eyes flicking down to her lips, then up to her eyes.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Lydia was about to open her mouth to respond, but just then, Aiden suddenly materialized next to the table. "Lydia."

She jumped, pulling her hand back from Stiles' knee like she was scalded and banging her hand on the table in the process.

"Aiden," she squeaked in surprised greeting. Stiles scrunched up his nose at the awkward encounter and turned to pretend to focus on the book in front of him.

"Hey, um, how are you?" Lydia asked. She placed a cold hand behind her ear to try and cool the redness creeping up there. She didn't miss Aiden's eyes flicking over to Stiles briefly before he focused his attention back on her.

"Yeah, I'm good," Aiden said. His voice became low and sultry as he continued. "I was just wondering if maybe 4th period..."

Lydia's eyes widened, mortified at the direction this conversation was turning in. She became extremely aware of Stiles' thigh practically touching hers.

"Oh," she said. She didn't know what to do with herself; scratching at her neck, placing a hand between her knees, biting her lip. "Yeah, I guess, if I'm not busy with...with, you know, stuff."

Aiden grinned, but it was shark-like and forced, the one he usually used when he was trying to keep it together around Scott now that he wanted to join his pack so badly. "Stuff? Like, with him?"

He nudged his head toward Stiles and Lydia's mouth parted slightly as she slowly looked at Stiles sideways. Her heart sped up in her chest. Usually she could handle a few boys at once, but when it came to _Stiles _- who had rubbed his fingers so _gently _across her skin last night - and her werewolf boyfriend asking her for sex...well, it was safe to say she wouldn't mind crawling under a rock at the moment.

Stiles opened his mouth for a full 30 seconds before stammering: "Oh, sorry, did you guys wanna talk? In-in private, I mean, cuz I'll leave. You know what, I'll just uh-"

He gathered up a few of the books in front of him and clumsily pushed back from the table, giving Lydia one very discreet look that clearly read: _seriously with this guy? _

She wanted to tell him to stay, but Aiden was already talking again.

"What's a kitsune?"

Lydia tore her eyes away from Stiles' back and up to Aiden. "What? Oh, nothing."

She closed the remainder of the books and gave Aiden a tight-lipped smile. "So, about 4th period-"

"Look, Lydia," Aiden interrupted. "If you don't want to, I'm not going to force you."

"No, no, it's not that, I just..." Lydia paused, sighing. "I'm just really caught up with homework and my parents..."

Aiden nodded, but apparently he wasn't quite as dumb as he looked. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Lydia, you...you don't think I would hurt you, do you?"

And all at once it was like a film had been peeled from Lydia's world. Suddenly Aiden's face was replaced with the words _sex, sex, sex,_ and a memory floated into her mind of Stiles covering her shoulders with that ratty blanket in the front seat of his Jeep and her mouth tingled with the ghosts of Aiden's hungry kisses and then with the feeling she got when she'd soothed Stiles with a single touch of her lips in the locker room-

She was shaking her head. "No, Aiden, not at all, but I...I have to go."

She ditched the books and just nearly forgot to grab her purse from the back of her chair, leaving Aiden behind.

Lydia was grateful that she didn't bump into Stiles upon leaving the library, or even when she left the school, or climbed into her car and drove away.

When she entered her home, everything became one big dream. She dropped her purse on the kitchen floor and stepped into her backyard, slipping her shoes off with one swift movement. Without thinking, without feeling, she dropped into the blue of her swimming pool and was surrounded by water, cool and fresh and gentle against her skin. She stayed under, feeling weightless, like the water was a whole other world made up entirely for her.

For a few brief seconds, she forgot she even had a boyfriend. Or werewolves. What were werewolves? What was her name even?

She thought she may have been on the verge of passing out by the time she resurfaced, gasping for breath.

Her weird impulses had done the trick once again. Whatever strange out-of-body experience she had had from the library to this pool was all she needed to feel clear-headed again.

Strangely, her first thought was not of Stiles, or Aiden, or the fact that her good dress was soaked through with chlorine water, but rather it was the kitsune.

For some reason, now that she knew what she was and what purpose she held, she felt it was her own personal mission to unravel the mystery of the kitsune, find it and stop it.

At least, she hoped it was because of her new sense of purpose and not because of that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that told her the kitsune was unusually dangerous, for more reasons than one.

The feeling that told her it may have something - or everything - to do with the darkness residing inside of her friends.

* * *

**Author's Note: I literally wrote this chapter in the pitch black on 30% laptop battery during a power outage, so I can't say I'm not a little proud of it. Anyways, as you can see, I've decided to twist the kitsune mythology into my own. I have absolutely no idea what Jeff Davis is going to be doing with it, but I figured I might as well incorporate some of my ideas into this fic. I hope you all like where this is going. **

**PS: Although I think Lydia is the most badass woman on television right now, I felt that it was necessary to make her a little flustered in this chapter. That doesn't mean she couldn't kick both Aiden's and Stiles' ass if she wanted to, because she totally could (werewolf or not.) I kind of enjoyed writing this vulnerable, confused side of her. For now, at least. **

**Share your thoughts in the reviews! Love, Alex**


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles went back to see the foxes that night. He wasn't sure why, exactly, only that he knew he had to.

There was a slight chill to the air, causing him to wrap his black sweater closer around himself as he made his way back to the clearing, a flashlight held out in front of him. It was so easy to find the corpses; he felt he knew the pathways like the back of his hand though he'd only been there once.

As the foxes came into view, eerily blue and sharply outlined in the light of the flashlight, Stiles had a sudden guilty thought. Why had he and his friends just left them there to rot? After all, they had clearly bled when they'd been shot, so they must have been the good guys.

He shook the thought, feeling rather uncomfortable at the emotion that this sent through him, like he wasn't looking at a bunch of foxes but rather his _friends_, lying dead on the ground.

As he crouched in the dirt to run a hand through the orange fur of one of the animals, still soft in death, he had a vision that it wasn't a fox at all, but _Allison. _His hand was in Allison's hair, crusted with blood and dirt. Her sickly pale face was illuminated in the beam of his flashlight, eyes wide open and glassed over with death.

He fell back, a strangled scream coming from him. This time, however, he didn't wake up. The image of Allison left as soon as it had come, but he was still in the clearing, still staring at the foxes with a heaving chest.

He was really here. The dirt beneath his fingers, the trees surrounding him, the four dead foxes in front of his eyes; they were _real_.

And suddenly whatever urge he had had to come here felt impossible to comprehend, and he was quick to scramble up from the dirt and run from the clearing as fast as he could. He jumped into his Jeep parked directly outside the forest and drove away, blinking away a sheen of tears from his eyes.

* * *

"Christ," Stiles said under his breath as he and Scott entered the cafeteria.

Scott stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Lydia."

They peered into the distance and saw their usual table in the noisy caf where Lydia was sitting. Unfortunately, she had an unwelcome guest at her side, smiling into the crook of her neck like they were in their usual storage closet rather than the middle of the high school cafeteria.

Scott punched Stiles in the side as gently as he could considering his supernatural strength. "So what, dude? I thought you were over that."

Stiles sighed. "I don't care if she has a boyfriend, man. I care that said boyfriend is _him._"

Furrowing his brow, Scott lowered his voice a little more, like everyone could hear them despite the hundreds of different conversations filling the air. "You think Aiden's still dangerous?"

Stiles valued the fact that Scott hardly ever forced his own opinions on his best friend, but rather left the door open for whatever Stiles had to say. Despite his lack of dog-like attributes or battle skills, Stiles still felt part of the pack, and that was one of the things keeping him sane throughout everything.

He sighed again and tapped his thigh, a little reluctant to say what he was about to say. "No. I mean, I don't really think he would hurt Lydia. First, because he's not pure evil like some of the other Alphas, and second, because he would definitely screw his chances of being in your pack if he tried anything."

"Then what?" Scott pressed.

Stiles moved his lunch tray to one hand and whipped the other hand toward where Lydia was sitting. "Look at her face, man. Come on. Remember when I asked you to sniff her for any sign of sexual desire toward me?"

"Yeah," Scott said with just a hint of a smirk.

"Okay. Well can you not sense or...or _smell _that she is obviously miserable when that guy's around?" Stiles asked. "You know, what if- what if she's scared of him or something?"

Stiles wasn't lying. When he looked at Lydia, he could already see the tightness in her face as Aiden stuck his nose in her neck and smiled that shark-like smile. Not to mention the awkwardness between them at the library ; a tension that Stiles felt had nothing to do with him sitting right there, but rather with the fact that Aiden was just straight up asking her for sex without the smallest hint of any cordial colloquy.

"Honestly, Stiles," Scott said sadly. "Those kinds of senses haven't really been working too well lately."

Stiles' attention snapped from Lydia and back to Scott. "Wait, what? Since when?"

"When do you think?" Scott said pointedly.

He furrowed his brow. "Okay, okay, well maybe it's something you have to work through. This darkness thing could be obstructing your wolf juices or whatever."

"Yeah," Scott said. "Probably."

There was enough doubt in Scott's words to sink a ship, but neither of them commented on it. Just then, Isaac made his way to the table with his lunch tray and the two best friends watched as he and Aiden exchanged some obviously tense words and Isaac slid into a chair on the other side of Lydia.

Stiles could practically taste the absolute hatred between the two, and after only a few seconds, Aiden kissed Lydia on the cheek - earning him a tight-lipped smile - and left the table.

Stiles and Scott finally started making their way to the table sitting on the opposite side of their two friends.

"Where's Allison?" Scott asked.

Isaac shook his head. "I honestly have no idea. She won't answer my texts."

"She's probably hung over or something," Lydia said, ripping off pieces of the bread on her plate but grimacing at it rather than eating it.

"She doesn't drink," Scott said.

His eagerness to speak about Allison earned him a bit of a glance from Isaac. There was obvious tension between the two, but Stiles could tell that it was a hurdle they were trying to get over smoothly in spite of their hormones.

Suddenly Stiles remembered his vision of Allison, dead in the dirt of the forest, his hands running through her hair. A spike of worry drove through him that almost made him dizzy.

"Stiles," Lydia said slowly. "Do you know something?"

"What?" Stiles asked, furrowing his brow. He shook his head. "Uh, no, just- how long has she been M.I.A?"

"Last time I spoke to her was last night. She seemed fine," Isaac said. "Or, you know, as fine as one can be."

"What time?" Stiles asked urgently.

This earned him a perplexed look from his friends.

"What time did you talk to her?" he elaborated, gesturing impatiently.

"I donno, uh," Isaac scratched the back of his head. "Eleven?"

Stiles had went back to visit the foxes a little after midnight. Relief ran through him. There was no way Allison could be talking to Isaac and then be dead in the woods an hour later.

Unless his vision was more of a Lydia-like premonition, and Allison was dead somewhere else as they sat at a lunch table, casually discussing her.

A pit formed in his stomach. He put a hand over his forehead, holding it up.

"Stiles, _what?_" Scott asked, worried.

Stiles let out a shaky breath and sat up, looking at each of his friends in turn. "I think...I think we have to find her."

* * *

Stiles and Lydia took the Jeep. Scott and Isaac closely followed on the motorcycle. They were headed to the Argent's house, ditching their last classes for the third time this week.

No one had questioned Stiles, exactly, but they had looked at him a little like he was about to collapse at any second. He ignored them, however. He may have been going insane, but that didn't make the possibility of danger and death any less possible, and so they had to be careful wherever they went.

Intuition, visions, hallucinations - whatever they were, they were all they had to go on at the moment.

Stiles, feeling another stab of worry, pulled over to the side of the road when another thought hit him.

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked, pressing her hands against the dashboard at the abrupt turn, her hair flying around her.

"Change of plans," Stiles said simply. Isaac and Scott pulled up to the window and he rolled it down immediately, yelling at them through the noise of their idled motorcycle.

"Keep going to the Argent's. Lydia and I are going to the clearing."

"Why?" Scott yelled, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet.

"Just trust me! Go!"

And Stiles screeched off again in the Jeep, ignoring Lydia's absolutely perplexed look until she had no choice but to voice her confusion.

"What the hell's at the clearing?" she yelled.

"I'll explain everything later, Lydia. I just- I really need you to not ask any questions right now," he said, holding a shaking hand up.

He didn't like getting angry at her - or anyone, for that matter- but if there was anything worse than losing one's mind, it was having to explain to someone what exactly _losing your mind _consisted of, such as having no choice but to chase your hallucinations just to confirm if they really _were _hallucinations.

"Look, Stiles, if this is about another dream-"

"It's not."

"But if it _is,_" Lydia continued. "Remember what I told you. Remember what's real."

The panic pulsing through him would never in a thousand years allow him to calm down and _remember what's real_, so he just decided to grip the steering wheel a little tighter and keep a handle on what he was doing right now.

Allison. He was going to look for Allison.

He was going to check for her dead body in the woods.

When they reached the clearing, Stiles threw his door open and bolted into the woods. Lydia could be quite quick when she wanted to, and she caught up to him in a few moments.

He stopped abruptly in the clearing and Lydia bumped into him, wrapping one arm around Stiles' lower back and pulling him backward a little, reminding him of Glen Capri when they had saved Boyd from drowning.

The sight in front of him was not Allison. In fact, it wasn't anything. Any trace of the foxes - the bodies, the blood, the flags - they were all gone.

"Where-" Stiles managed to say, breathless.

After a few seconds, Lydia shook her head. "A hiker must have tipped off the police or something. Someone could have collected the bodies-"

She cut off abruptly and removed herself from beside Stiles, moving slowly forward to crouch down in a tree nearby. Something must have caught her eye.

When she got back up, she turned around slowly bearing a small blue flashlight in her hand. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "Was this you? Did you come back here?"

Stiles didn't have the strength to lie. "Yes, I came back here, but the foxes were still here-"

"Why would you come back here by yourself, Stiles?" Lydia asked, the wrinkle in her brow only etching deeper into her skin as she scrutinized him.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and looked around like the answer was painted in the air around him. "I don't _know, _Lydia. I just- I did, and I saw Allison. Her dead body, right here."

Lydia reached into her pocket then and pulled out her phone, frantically checking it for messages. Stiles did the same, but he found nothing. Further investigation told him that he had no service, and by the look on Lydia's face, neither did she.

"Look, I'm sure...I'm sure she's fine," Lydia said. She moved toward him, almost cautiously, like he was a deer that she didn't want to scare away. "But you're _not_, Stiles. You have to find some way to control this."

"Lydia, I can't!" Stiles yelled, loud enough to scare the birds away from nearby trees. Lydia straightened a bit, but was otherwise not startled by Stiles' outburst. "I can't fucking control it when it's starting to control me. Those foxes? I came to see them and I felt _bad _for them, like I _knew _them. Do you want to try and explain that? Because I sure as hell can't."

But Stiles' words seemed to have triggered something in Lydia. There was a flash in her eyes as they widened, like she was remembering something.

Stiles took a breath. His voice was calmer when he asked; "What?"

She looked up at him, her mouth gaping open a little. Stiles could see wheels turning in her mind, but judging by the look of horror that was suddenly dawning on her face, he wasn't going to like what she was coming up with.

"The kitsune," she said quietly. "You said the kitsune tricks people."

"So what?" Stiles asked, his hand in his hair. His voice was beginning to sound desperate as he continued to grasp at straws, looking for answers and getting nowhere at all.

"So what if this really is the kitsune? What if that's what's affecting you?" Lydia asked.

Stiles shook his head. "Allison and Scott are being affected to-"

"Not by the same thing," Lydia said. "They're not the ones who are going places and doing and seeing things that make no sense to them. Allison keeps seeing Kate because that was a significant event in her life, something that ties her to who she is. Scott is handling this fairly well, honestly-"

"He can't transform," Stiles said.

"Alright, well, that's another thing that ties him to who he is. Him being a werewolf is what started all of this in the first place, isn't it? But what about you, Stiles? What does any of this have anything to do with who you are? Since when do you care about foxes?"

Stiles' heart sped up as Lydia made more and more sense. He felt himself pale because what if he _killed _Allison?

_The kitsune tricks people into sin or suicide. _

"Stiles, we'll talk to Deaton, okay? It'll be easier now that we have something to go on-"

Her words were drowning as Stiles felt something dripping from his fingers. He swallowed, knowing what it was before he lifted his hands in front of him and saw the blood coating his skin, coming in floods from somewhere unknown and falling to the dirt at his feet.

He stepped backwards, away from the puddle of red pooling around from his feet but his hands continued to drip. The warmth of it, the thickness of it, it was enough to make his stomach churn.

Someone said his name, but the ringing in his ears was too overpowering.

Finally, the feeling of blood on his hands was too much. He wiped his hands on his shirt, but it wouldn't come off no matter how warm and wet it was. _Blood on his hands..._

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the feeling to go away, feeling something hard against his back and wishing someone would just hit him over the head so he could wake up again, but he was _sure _it wasn't a dream this time-

"Hey, Stiles," Lydia said urgently. The sound came rushing back to him like he'd pulled his head from underwater, and he opened his eyes.

She was there, like he knew she was, looking up at him with wide eyes while she held his wrists in her hands, bringing him back. He was sitting on the ground, his back against one of the trees surrounding the clearing.

"You okay?" she asked, letting go of his wrists and placing her hands on his shoulders instead. He had a brief, vivid flash to being under the ice water, him holding him down until he had no choice but to let darkness take him.

He flinched, but then he was back again. Her eyes were forcing him to keep her gaze, to keep looking at her until his breathing slowed and he was back in the clearing completely, him and her, alone.

He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off her. She nodded with him, keeping him grounded.

"Okay," she said softly. One of her hands moved to his neck, and she traced a thumb under his jaw, something that slowed his heart completely. "Let's go find Allison."


End file.
